Whatever It Takes
by Lear's Daughter
Summary: Nate and Hardison have a talk after the Scheherazade Job. This is kind of a Nate-friendly fix it for the end of that episode. Spoilers galore! Slight depiction of gore. Team!fic at the end.


Disclaimer: I don't own _Leverage_ or _Pinky and the Brain_.

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Nate's standing in the hospital hallway. On the other side of the window, Sam lies on a bed. He is very pale, his hair lank. Nate can hear the beeping of a heart monitor, knows that once again he is about to be forced to watch his son die._

_Suddenly there is a commotion down the hall._

"_I need a crash cart!" someone shouts._

_Nate races down the hall, holding his breath. He rounds a corner into a room and freezes at the sight of Eliot being defibrillated. Sophie is one bed over, both her wrists sliced and bleeding as a doctor frantically tries to staunch the blood. Hardison is on the last bed, howling in pain, his hands and face burned beyond recognition. Parker is struggling against three burly, grim-faced policemen, her hands in cuffs behind her back. They half-drag, half-carry her from the room, and when she sees Nate she screams, "This is your fault! Your fault!"_

Nate lurches out of sleep with a gasp. He's disoriented for a moment, his heart pounding, his face drenched with tears and sweat. He stares up at the ceiling. The image from the dream is burned across his vision. His bedroom feels unfamiliar, though he's not sure whether he expected to wake in a prison, or his car, or in a king size bed with Maggie sleeping peacefully beside him.

"Nate."

His fists clench in the sheets and he shudders, lets out a low moan.

"Nate. Do you want me to get Sophie? Nate, can you hear me, man?"

He blinks, frowns as the words sink in. "Hardison?" he mutters.

"Oh, thank God."

He turns his head and there Hardison is, wearing a t-shirt and pajama bottoms and holding a DVD case he's just pulled from one of the bookshelves he had installed in Nate's room during Nate's absence. The younger man is staring at him, with concern and maybe a little pity.

"We, uh, well, none of us could sleep," Hardison offers weakly, waving the DVD. "We all sort of wandered over here and figured we'd watch some TV."

Nate sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed before he registers what Hardison is saying. "Wait, everyone's here? The whole team?"

Hardison winces. "Yeah."

"I need to find a new place to live," Nate mutters. He runs his hand through his hair, feels his fingers catch in the tangles. He hesitates. "Was I screaming?"

"No. You were just…crying." Hardison looks at the door to Nate's room, as if wondering whether to make an excuse and leave, looks back at Nate, then sets the DVD on Nate's dresser. He bites his lip. "Nate, I haven't asked you about this because, well, you're not exactly the touchy-feely type, but did anything…happen…to you in prison?"

Nate's brow furrows in confusion.

"I mean, anything bad." Flustered, Hardison waves his hands. "Like, like—I mean, come on, you were there for six months. I grew up in foster care, I know the kinds of thing that can happen to people in jail."

It occurs to Nate that Hardison is trying to determine whether his nightmare was about being assaulted—or worse—in prison. He shakes his head, manages a strained chuckle. "No, nothing like that, Hardison. Eliot had a couple of guys looking out for me—and, believe it or not, I _can_ handle myself in a fight."

Hardison smiles quickly with relief, shoves his hands into his pockets. Tentatively, he says, "Were you dreaming about Sam?"

Nate puts his face in his hands. He's crying again, tears of reaction, and if part of him weren't still trapped in his nightmare he'd be mortified. After a moment he feels a hand on his back, hesitant at first, then firmer, not rubbing circles as Sophie would do but just pressing comfortably against him. The bed shifts a little as Hardison sits beside him.

"I'll take that as a yes," Hardison says.

"It wasn't just Sam," Nate says raggedly, making himself look up, knowing his eyes are bloodshot and red-rimmed and that this is probably ruining his mystique with Hardison forever. "It was all of you."

"All of—" Hardison pauses. "You have nightmares about us? Parker and Eliot and Sophie and me?"

"Yeah."

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Nate scrubs at his cheeks, takes steadying breaths as he recovers himself.

"You know, Nate," Hardison says carefully, "we're not your children. We're adults, and we've been taking care of ourselves for a long time."

"You're not children, but you _are_ my responsibility," Nate snaps. He doesn't usually like to explain himself, but it feels urgent now that Hardison understand—that _someone_ understand. "Every time we take a client, every time you put in an earbud, every time you adopt an accent or hack some account because I told you to, you're _my_ responsibility. Every time you put on one of Parker's rigs and take the risk of strangling yourself to death, you're _my_ responsibility. Every time someone pulls a gun on Eliot, or Parker has to go into a secure building knowing none of us have the skill to come in after her, or Sophie goes face to face with the scum of the universe with nothing but her acting to protect her, they're _my _responsibility."

Hardison swallows. "I didn't—I mean, I knew that you were protective of us, but I didn't know it weighed on you so much."

"It has to," Nate says harshly. "Because if there's ever a time when you think that I don't care more for every one of you than I do for myself, you should leave. If your leader isn't willing to turn himself into the police, or take a bullet, or, yes, even betray his own people to protect them, then he isn't doing his job." He glares at Hardison, his jaw clenched. "You're angry with me for hypnotizing you. Well, I'll tell you now—I'll damn well hypnotize you or do _whatever's necessary_ if that's what will keep you alive. Whatever it takes. Until you understand that, you're not ready to even consider running your own crew."

"I understand." At Nate's sharp look, Hardison amends, "I mean, I understand that, y'know, I need to understand."

Nate's lips quirk. "Being in prison? That was the easy part. Nothing to worry about, no responsibility. What's hard is…this. Having to be this person again."

Hardison squeezes Nate's shoulder. "I hate to break it to you, but you never stopped being this person, Nate. You helped at least one person in that prison, and probably more. You're a guardian. It's what you do. Just keep in mind that you don't need to do it alone."

Nate nods slowly. "I'm sorry you had to see me like this. I haven't been sleeping well."

Hardison smiles wryly. "You don't have to apologize for worrying about us, Nate."

The sound of a footstep on the stair makes them stiffen.

"Hardison?" It's Sophie. "What's taking so long? Is everything all right?"

Hardison clears his throat. "It's fine," he calls out.

Nate stands to scrub his cheeks with a damp tissue and run a comb through his hair.

"Everything's fine," Hardison goes on. "Nate and I have just been having a, uh, manly talk, that's all."

"I can believe Nate having a manly talk, but what have you been doing?" That's Eliot.

"Sticks and stones, my friend," Hardison snarks back. "Just because we don't all have Schwarzenegger's testosterone—"

"The popcorn's getting cold! And Eliot won't let me put my feet on his lap. Nate, tell Eliot to let me put my feet on his lap." Oh, Parker.

"We're on our way," Nate shouts back, running his hand through his hair again.

"You okay?" Hardison asks.

Nate's smirk is almost convincing. "Of course." He leads the way down the stairs. "What are we watching, anyway?"

"Old episodes of _Pinky and the Brain_." Hardison pokes Nate on the back. "One of the characters reminds us of you."

"I'm the Brain, huh?"

"Hell no! _I'm_ the Brain. You're Pinky."

Nate steps off of the bottom step and has to dodge the nerf football that Eliot throws at Hardison. Apparently Eliot planned for Nate to duck, because it hits Hardison square in the forehead.

"You wish, Hardison," Eliot says. "_I'm _the Brain. I'm the only one here with an ounce of common sense."

"Your head's certainly as big as the Brain," Hardison replies, stealing the remote from Eliot and a handful of popcorn from the bowl Sophie's holding. Munching the popcorn, he crouches in front of the DVD player to put in the DVD.

"I don't care who's the Brain, as long as I get to be Pinky," Parker puts in, scooting over on the couch to make room for Nate. Eliot grunts a protest, but moves when she jabs her elbow into his stomach.

"Did you know, I was going to voice a female mouse on this show but the part ended up getting cut?" Sophie says.

Hardison settles into an armchair and presses play. Nate finds himself smiling as the theme song begins. Parker sings along.

"_They're Pinky and the Brain_

_Yes Pinky and the Brain_

_One is a genius, the other's insane…"_

He falls asleep that way a few minutes later, his lips slightly curved and his head on Parker's shoulder. He dreams of a world in which he and his team are diabolical but good-hearted mice. It's terrifying, but it's not a nightmare.

"_What are we going to do tonight, Nate?"_

"_The same thing we do every night, Parker. Try to save the world."_


End file.
